


Naming Days

by Ramzes



Series: Shadows of the Grass of Blood [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: The naming days of the children of Maekar Targaryen and Dyanna Dayne. Not quite sunshine and roses but then, what about the man ever was?





	1. Daeron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Golden_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Daughter/gifts).



> The credit goes to Golden_Daughter, who, in a comment to Dead and Dragons, asked me who I think Aegon V was named after. Quite a lenghty reply, I admit.

The boy spent the first two days of his life without a name. The reason was simple – Maekar simply could not think of a proper one. The ones that occurred to him simply did not feel right.

 “You can’t delay forever,” his mother said as she sat in Dyanna’s solar with the newborn in her arms. “You’ll have to decide one of these days.”

 Maekar glanced at her and then returned his eyes to the darkening sky behind the window. “One of these days? You mean, today.”

 “Well, yes,” Mariah said, rocking the babe slowly. “I suppose it can wait until the presentation but…”

 “But there is no use,” he finished for her. “If I can’t think of one now, I won’t be able to think of one for the presentation either… and we can’t keep calling him Babe forever.”

 “I know,” she admitted.

 Still staring outside, Maekar opened the window to let in the rain that had just started falling brought on the black wings of a storm, the rain that his mother had taught him to love. “Never wish for the rain to go away, Maekar,” she had often told him. “It shows that the Seven love us.”

 This time, though, she said nothing of the kind. Instead, she glared. “Close this window,” she ordered. “There is a babe here.”

 Guiltily, Maekar did so as his mother busied herself with wrapping the babe better. “Your father isn’t thinking straight,” she told him and laughed when he stirred. “Yes, this father,” she added. “He’s going to get you a chill. He can’t even think of a name for you… Don’t you at least know which names you don’t want?” she asked.

 “Aegon,” he said immediately. “And…”

 She looked at the colour rising to his face and sighed. “I can guess the other one,” she said. “I am from Dorne as well, don’t forget. I wed the man bearing it as the wounds of Dorne was still fresh…”

  _“Ah this name. This  name. If I could only erase this name not just from my memory but the memory of everyone who’s going to keep living. If I could only burn it out of our heads – then, I will not have lived in vain. Daeron.”_

 How often had she heard these words? In the Old Palace. In the strongholds that the Martells visited. In the desert. Who had said them? Had anyone actually voiced them, or had she heard them straight from the hearts of her people?

 It had taken her two years and eleven days to learn to say the name with love.

 Usually, she did not know and did not wish to know anything about Maekar and Dyanna’s relationship. It was no place of hers. Still, she recognized that even in the little she knew, she instinctively took Maekar’s side before her reason could kick in. But not this time. If there had been an argument, she was with Dyanna, wholeheartedly. It was Dyanna’s newborn and logic had nothing to do with the fact that a mother should feel comfortable with saying her son’s name. And for a Dornishwoman, it would not happen with this name, even if it was Daeron the Good, Maekar’s father, that would be honoured.

 “Go to sleep, Babe,” she crooned, wondering for how long they would have to keep calling him this.

 

* * *

 

It was Dyanna who put an end to the period and Dyanna who chose the name. She announced it as she lay in her bed, the potted bushes that hid half of the window colouring the sunlight streaming in and casting bright yellow patches on her skin.

“Are you sure?” Maekar asked uncertainly. “Think hard, Dyanna! Once we proclaim it, there’s no going back.”

 She rolled her eyes, already recovered enough to convey mock fatigue with him with her entire lively face. “Sure? Of course I’m sure. This is your father’s name and I find it suitable.”

 Her smile was brilliant but her eyes were shiny with tears of the greatest relief there was. She was still pale and sallow after the birth, with the faint unpleasant odour that would only disappear fully when she expelled the last afterbirth blood, curdles and all. But to Mariah, she had never looked more glorious – or more victorious. _We won_ , she thought as she cuddled her grandson for as long as she could before handing him to his mother . _Dyanna who grew up in the shadow of the bloodshed put the vainglorious dragon behind, consigning him to the past – what a blow to his pride! In ten years, the name Daeron will be mostly related to my Daeron – and this one, also mine. Here. And even in Dorne. The Young Dragon failed to crush us. Here I am, the Dornish queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Here you are, claiming him so insignificant that you even don’t care to not name your child after him. And Maekar is here, taking his Dornish wife into account, instead of just… taking, the Young Dragon’s way. His vaunted achievements vanished in the air. He could not even keep our hatred and elevate it above love. What a failure._

 Maekar’s eyes were moving from her to Dyanna and then back, stopping over the babe from time to time as well. He seemed to know what his lady was not saying. Mariah did not know what he would have done if she hadn’t been here but she was. He leaned over the bed. Took Dyanna’s hand. Raised it to his mouth. They were so engrossed in each other that Mariah felt safe in wiping the tear from her own eye. In her arms, little Daeron Targaryen slept soundly and innocently.


	2. Aemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment!

Daeron had held many just-had-been-borns in his arms and he remembered the different feelings each of them had evoked: the sheer horror at seeing the huge-headed, hairy-even-in-the-ears Baelor and, _But he's so ugly! Where are we going to hide him?_ ; the faint surprise at his first look at Aerys with the translucent skin, so fair that the small blue veins of his face were clearly visible and, _Is he going to walk around with everyone seeing straight through him?_ ; the delight when Rhaegel stared straight at him as much as a just-had-been-born could stare and his face twisted into something that Daeron knew was a grimace but he liked to think it was a smile; the fear divided almost equally for Mariah and Maekar but still, distinctly leaning on Mariah's side as both had been close to death during her last time in the birthing bed and, _A boy. What are we going to do with a boy?_ He remembered the feelings that had filled him at the births of each of his grandsons. But the wonder of a new life and the relief that mother and child had both made it was something that was not subject to change. Until now. Only when his goodaughter and grandson were declared healthy did he realize how great his fear had been this time and he held the little boy with the feeling of triumph and rejoice that knew no limits. Dyanna had done it again, given them a healthy boy, affirming and confirming their dynasty and the benevolent hand that the Seven held over them. The dark cloud that had settled over them when Jena had bled her last babe just a few moons ago had dispersed, cast away by the strong constitution and the iron will of a slip of a girl that everyone had written off for dead just a few years ago.

"Have you thought of a name?" he asked but Maekar did not answer immediately; instead, he used the fact that a servant-maid was entering Dyanna's bedchamber to try and steal a look inside, at least until his mother came from the other side to push him out with her bare hands. "Dyanna doesn't want you to see her before we've cleaned her up," she said and closed the door in his face.

 _He only thinks about Dyanna and not the babe at all,_ Daeron thought with faint condemnation before remembering that each time, he had been so preoccupied with Mariah that their children had not felt real to him in the first few weeks… or months.

"So? What about his name?" he asked again and wondered why. It did not matter what Maekar and Dyanna had thought… but it seemed that they had not given it a thought.

"I didn't want to tempt the Seven," Maekar said; for a moment, Daeron saw the depth of his son's past fear – for Dyanna, not the babe. "This time, it won't take days, you know."

 _Indeed it won't,_ Daeron thought. But both the joy of this new arrival and the whispers about the ideas it might give Maekar would take much longer to subside – many weeks for the first, years for the second; with something akin to horror, he realized that even he was not immune to them. He already loved this new grandson, he was happy by this proof that Dyanna's health had been restored so successfully… but he still wished that this babe had been born to Jena at Dragonstone and not Dyanna at King's Landing.

Was this the reason Baelor had decided it was so important to inspect the riverlands and the losses that they had suffered just a few weeks ago? Because he had wished to be away for the first joy and cheer? Yes, most likely. Of course, Baelor would never admit it and Daeron would never ask. He could not say that he understood because he did not know what waiting for children that were lost again and again felt like. He only knew that he wanted this new boy to have arrived in the right cradle and that he already loved him.

"I wish I could have named one of you after my lord grandfather," he said, stroking the soft cheek.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I felt it was like inviting bad luck. He wasn't a very happy man and his ending was… suspicious."

"You mean Aegon killed him," Maekar said bluntly. "Sometimes, I've wondered if you believed this. Personally, I don't doubt it. He was capable of this, and worse."

Daeron shivered and squeezed the babe more tightly. It whimpered and he loosened his grasp. "By the Seven, Maekar, how can you speak of such things so close to the chamber in which your own son was born less than an hour ago?"

Maekar shrugged. "I don't see why not," he said. "Even he can't harm us from where he is now."

 _Can't he?_ Daeron wondered. His father had been dead for more than half Maekar's life but he had left his hope and legacy – Daemon… Daemon who had almost cost Maekar the use of his arm – Daeron suspected that it would take a while before Maekar felt sure enough to hold his new son. The reach of Aegon's malice had extended far beyond the grave.

Daemon who had been prepared and used against Daeron. Daemon, with his great talents and the cultivated inability to contain his pride. He had even named his first sons with two of the greatest Targaryen names – Daeron had to admit that there was a certain melodiousness in the songs of Aegon and Aemon, the brave lads bravely perished… Unfortunately, these songs cast Brynden as the villain.

"I had no doubts about Baelor's name, though," he said, refusing to think about Daemon anymore. "I admired King Baelor's achievements and peaceful inclinations, although not his excesses. He was a great visioner."

Maekar sighed. "I've heard it all before," he said and suddenly, there was a mischievous, ever so rare flame dancing in his eyes, although his expression did not change. "I've always got the feeling that you would have named us all after him if it had been possible. Baelor, Baelor, Baelor, and Baelor… did I miss a Baelor?"

Daeron laughed, wishing for this moment to stretch. It was so rare for Maekar to show a less serious side – Daeron had not heard him quip for over a year after Dyanna's terrible disease had been discovered and in the aftermath of Redgrass Field, no one had been in any mood to make japes. They still weren't but the dead were buried. The harvest was delivered safely in the barns. Children were born.

"Aemon," he suddenly said. "We're going to name him Aemon, Maekar."

Maekar looked at him, surprised, but then nodded and Daeron wondered if his son thought he was naming the child after his beloved uncle, Aemon the Dragonknight. He was but there was also something else, something that he did not wish to say aloud, not when the sand demon Mariah and, supposedly, Dyanna believed in lurked here to torture the woman who had just given birth and her babe.

 _You can have your Aemon from the songs, Daemon,_ he thought bitterly, his onetime affection for the traitor having subsided in the pyre that Daemon had turned the realm in without thinking of anything else but himself _. I will have this one in the cradle. You have a dead one and I, a living. And from this moment on, I will make it clear that in this realm, only one Targaryen branch is allowed to thrive and prosper – my own._

 


	3. Aerion

"You could have been Aegon, you know," Baelor said. "You were this close…"

He might have illustrated his words with a gesture but Maekar didn't bother looking. Still, his joy of Dyanna and their new son being both well made him tolerant even of ridiculous claims that he would not credit at all. "Was I?" he asked.

"Well, you were born when the Seven saw fit to curse Grandfather's campaign against Dorne, burn his wooden dragons, and scatter his fleet. As you know, he had been proclaiming loudly that you would arrive either dead or monstrous."

_I know, I know._ Baelor meant well – Maekar knew this as well. The story of his birth was one of triumph – how Mariah Martell had disappointed everyone who had been happily repeating her goodfather's slanders by producing a silver prince, hale and screaming, despite being born so prematurely that his birth actually took place in the same year as Rhaegel's. He had never doubted his mother's pride and affection when she told the story… but it made him feel uncomfortable anyway, like a premonition of what his life would be like. What it had been like this far. To be put to good use. To rub King Aegon's nose in the failure of his malicious hopes. To stay healthy and keep out of the way. To guarantee his father's good behavior by staying at his grandfather's court. To be shaped into something his parents despised. To fulfill the hopes Aerys and Rhaegel had finally revealed to be unable to make true – all it had always been built upon his brothers and almost nothing on him. Not before there was a _need_. And still, Maekar had always preferred his father's attitude to his mother's. "I have no time for Maekar right now" might have sounded painful to a boy always striving to get notice but it gave him a clear idea where he stood. His mother's promises, on the other hand… It was not that she had not meant to keep them, it had been just that she had so often been called to solve a problem. Maekar had given her no trouble so she had delayed their walks, the hour she had been meant to spare to see the things that he had wanted to show her, the story that she had promised to tell him for later – and somehow, this later had never come. Or almost never.

Words were wind and promises, even worse. Except for Dyanna's. Which was strange, given her inclination to spin wild tales as easily as she breathed. Wind and illusions. Like Daemon's delusions that giving his sons glorious Targaryen names would somehow confirm him as a real Targaryen. Bad thing was, there were enough fools who believed this.

"So Father wanted to name me after the King to spite him?" Maekar asked, amused and horrified in equal parts. The silent war between king and heir had clearly been even more vicious than his child's mind had realized.

Baelor's mouth quirked. "Actually, it was an idea Mother entertained briefly. What sweeter revenge than name the unwanted grandson after the man who had just lost his bid to conquer her land and wanted to have her repudiated?"

_Wars and revenge again. It's easy for you to talk about this, Brother_ , Maekar thought. Of course, Baelor was their father's instrument as well, a weapon that King Daeron wielded, like all sons were – but he was not only this. Maekar had little doubt that had Aerys and Rhaegel showed a satisfactory prowess in being knights and statesmen, he himself would have still been lurking somewhere in the periphery, with no one caring what he was able to do.

"But fortunately, Mother decided that she needed to be able to say my name without choking?" he asked in all seriousness.

"I think so." Baelor paused. "People wonder about the name, though. I do as well. It isn't as if I miss Grandfather's name repeated but… why Aerion?"

"Even if I was inclined to repeat his name just to hear him roll in his grave, the moment Daemon named his son Aegon, it became forbidden for me," Maekar said. "I am not competing with him and that's it."

But he had been competing with him, had he not? The old King had ordered it, come to watch. The result had been as expected. Maekar had been five years younger.

But not now. Compete with him at such a low level? It would be almost as bad as if he decided to raise a fuss over the fact that Daemon had Blackfyre and Brynden, Dark Sister. Whatever blades they had, they were always less than Maekar and his brothers and this was a fact.

Baelor gave him a long look and Maekar knew the non-answer was not lost on him. But he was not in the mood to talk about this. Aerion had been the last Targaryen who had lived without battles. And Maekar was tired of battles in which he was only a blade in someone else's hands.

 


	4. Daella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, you are a true inspiration!

Daeron had long given up the hope for a girl child, ever since the last child Mariah had been delivered of had turned out to be another boy. How ironic – in this, he and his father had been of the same mind, only that for Daeron, it's been some sad resignation while Aegon had gloated in the future strife he envisioned between his grandsons – he had certainly done his best to facilitate it! In addition, he had spread the rumour that the Seven had closed Mariah's womb, making her barren – this about the woman who had given Daeron four living children in a row!

Daeron had never blamed Mariah, neither with his voice nor his heart but his longing had grown, turned into expectation and then into weary resignation. Four boys in a family that only needed two and then, five more…

But she had arrived, finally. Small and docile, violet eyes blinking slowly on a fair skin, under impossibly long locks of dark hair. "May I?" Daeron asked with something like fear, as if he had not held a babe in his life. Baelor had been his first experience – and he had almost dropped him. But he could say, not without pride, that each and every of his children and grandchildren had been perfectly safe in his arms from then on.

One of the smiles that Daeron had seen increasingly rarely lit Maekar's face. "You're welcome," he said but at the last moment, Daeron hesitated, his hands already touching his dream, warm and sweet-smelling of soap and babe.

"I may drop her," he said. "She's so tiny."

This time, Maekar almost laughed outright. "Here," he said, placing the babe in his father's arms; with a swift jolt of joy, Daeron saw the certainty that Maekar held the little one with. His arm had clearly healed completely, else he would not have dared.

"I can't believe it," Daeron said softly. "A little girl. I had already given up on hope."

"So have I." For a moment, Maekar's eyes turned black and his face returned to the habitual distance that stopped emotions from showing; Daeron instinctively knew that his son's hopes had not been the same as his own. And then, the shadows disappeared and the faint but distinct coldness that had started blowing more fiercely between the two of them over the last two years dispersed once more. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

"The prettiest little girl I've ever seen," Daeron said honestly. "How is Dyanna?"

The little one whimpered and then wailed, as if she recognized her mother's name; the wetnurse quickly rose from her corner and took the babe. Maekar nodded and she hurried away. Without asking, Daeron knew that for the first few weeks, until the mother's breasts dried up, the newborn would be whisked away immediately, so her crying would not slow the process down. Who knew what was Dyanna's milk now? Lifesaving nourishment or poison? No one cared to ascertain the wrong way.

Maekar glanced at the door of the adjacent chamber to make sure that there was no sound from the other side. He even went to have a look. Daeron heard a brief conversation and Maekar assuring Dyanna that of course the babe was fine. Then, he returned and Daeron asked if he could enter.

As things turned out, the wetnurse and the babe returned in time to enter with him. Dyanna eagerly held her arms out and held her daughter. The sight of the two of them together made Daeron smile. Dyanna still looked exhausted, her hair matted by earlier sweat but her eyes were shining with love and pride. She knew what the arrival of this granddaughter meant to him. To all of them. And she smiled when she saw the casket of sapphires that he left for the babe. "We could use this necklace instead of a belt for her," she jested and this was so but Daeron suddenly realized that the babe who was inspecting them with unusual focus, did not look like a newborn or act like one. She was bigger than most as well. The due date had been changed twice but now he wondered if the first had not been the right one. All this hair… This babe must have been way too late. His gratitude for Dyanna increased as her unusual exhaustion was explained. Greatly relieved, he thought that Maekar's fears were misplaced and still, some irrational, fierce anger seized him because misplaced or not, his son was suffering. He had suffered for the last four years out of the nine that he had been wed to Dyanna. Of course, his anger was not aimed at his goodaughter… or at least not… entirely… It shamed him to his very core and much more.

"What name are you going to give her?" he asked, taking a seat with the little one in his arms. "Maekar told me you were the one to choose it this time."

It was only right. She had been through hell and back to get this babe and it showed so clearly. The newborn's facial lines were more clearly defined than Daeron would have expected – and they were a tiny copy of her mother's face. It was only right.

Dyanna nodded. "Daella," she said and Daeron paused. He had expected to hear a Dornish choice. Mariah, Nymeria, or even Dyanna's own mother – why not? In their world, daughters could not matter as much as sons and although Dyanna would have been the one to choose the name either way, he had not expected of her to be so respectful of her babe's Targaryen lineage, as fiercely proud as she was with her own.

"It's very… unexpected to me," he said at last.

Dyanna's eyes narrowed on him. "Why should it be?" she asked. "Her father is still a Targaryen, is he not?"

Her voice said more than the words themselves and the guilt and shame that had settled in his heart the first time he had wondered about Maekar and what he might do one day rose to the surface. "He is," he said as calmly as he could. "You both are, as well as the children."

Dyanna nodded, a bitter smile playing across her mouth. "Of course. Spares to the heirs are always needed but they'd better remain unseen, am I right?"

"You aren't," Daeron replied sharply. "Summerhall is a token of my esteem, for the blood he gave to strengthen my rule."

"And also a token of your distrust, Your Grace," she retorted and to this, he could say nothing at all. "Forgive me if I'm overstepping but the situation isn't easy for us either. I know rumours and cliques will always look for a cause that would give their greed legitimacy and when they lost in in Daemon, someone had to take the vacated spot but Maekar has never had such leanings. He won't say a thing but I know it weighs on him. You and Baelor constantly wonder if he's truly one of you; I would have liked it if he were just mine but I know it isn't possible. For good or bad, he has lived and bled and will keep doing this as a true Targaryen. He's still the same as when he was born and his daughter is still his. Surely you won't deny her a name?"

"Never," he sighed, a sudden apprehension unfurling within him so strong that it left him unable to even get annoyed with her cruel and wounding words. What would happen if her current weakness expanded or, the Seven forbid, her disease returned? What would Maekar do without the only one who had accepted him just as he was?

Dyanna's eyes were still narrow slits. For a moment, Daeron imagined that she could read his mind but then realized that it was not his face that she was looking at. It was his arms that made her feel uneasy. The arms of the Targaryen king holding the Targaryen baby who would only be fully significant as royal through her name. The name of the princess whose blood still ran in every descendant of the dragon kings of today. At this moment, Dyanna looked as if her only desire was to snatch her child away.

 


	5. Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented.

He was born when a long summer reminded the land that as beautiful and pleasant as it was, years of heat could kill just as ruthlessly as those of ice, just in a prolonged way. More insidiously. Or sometimes, more directly. The head midwife who came out of Dyanna's birthing chamber to show them the healthy boy would start crying all of a sudden as she presented the babe to everyone separately. Mariah spoke to her softly and sighed, patting her hand. She took her grandson from the woman's arms and cradled him, nodding at the woman that she was free to go for now. "Come back at sunset to have a look at her again," she said and the midwife nodded.

"I will," she said. "But the Princess will be fine. I've never seen such an easy birth – and with her fifth, and these narrow hips of hers!"

She chattered praisingly as her trade demanded but Maekar could see that her heart was not in it. He went to his mother and stared at his son again. "Another fair-haired one," he murmured absent-mindedly. In truth, he had hoped for a girl because what future could the fourth son of a fourth son ever have? He had hoped for a dark-haired child, as much as Dyanna enjoyed their others taking after him. He took great delight in Daella taking after her. _What am I going to do with you, little one,_ he wondered, staring at his son and feeling irrationally guilty for bringing him to this world where he would live in the same shadow as his father, only many times worse; when his mother started to place the newborn in his arms, he declined, as much as out of the usual fear that always gripped him with his new children even now, when his arm had healed, as out of this strange, misplaced guilt.

"So tiny!" Aemon cried out, his eyes shining. "I likes him!" And he squirmed in his wetnurse's arms, trying to get a better view of his new brother. He had not reacted like this to Daella's arrival, this much was sure!

"What happened?" the King asked softly, coming to touch his newborn grandson's soft head for the first time."

"Just a week ago, her daughter died while harvesting. The heat. She collapsed right there, in the field."

Daeron bowed his head. "It happens from time to time."

"She was about to be wed next month," Mariah said.

For a long moment, there was silence. Maekar made a note to himself to be kinder to the woman than he usually was to people. He was never intentionally brusque but even he could see how his curt manner might trigger someone who had already fallen into the clutches of despair.

"The sky fire," his mother said and his father gave her a look of incomprehension. "That's what we call it in Dorne," she clarified. "When the sun kills like fire does."

Daeron nodded, always glad to learn something new. Unlike him, Maekar already knew, although he could not say how. His mother must have mentioned this to him when he had been a child. A story that she had told them in front of the fire in a winter night? Who could say! He reached out and took the babe from Mariah's arms.

"Please," young Daeron suddenly spoke. "May we not talk of fires and death? Today, at least?"

His eyes were wide but clouded. He looked instantly regretful and Maekar knew he had had one of his dreams. The dreams that he needed to learn not to pay attention to. It was not as if he could influence what would happen and succumbing to the fears they arose was a weakness that Maekar would beat out of him. "What are you still doing here?" he asked brusquely. "You may now go and see your mother but you still have lessons and practice today. Did you think you'd be allowed to skip the entire day or something?"

"No." The boy entered his mother's chamber without trying to find justifications and Maekar was met by two pairs of eyes. Two pairs of disapproving eyes.

"You're too harsh on him," Daeron said.

Maekar was not abashed. "Am I? Or perhaps I know him better than you? He'll have to learn to control what he says and I'll be damned if I let him slack on anything because of his dreams. They aren't going away, so he'd have to learn to either suppress them or live with them. Not letting them consume him."

His mother's disapproval grew but there was also sadness. Maekar looked away, as loathe to have caused the one as the other. His new son stirred in her arms and she cradled him and murmured until he quieted again. Aemon's eyes were moving from his father to his grandmother and back and for a moment, Maekar wondered if he _understood_ what was being said.

His father stared at him, shaking his head. "I'm thinking of taking Daeron to King's Landing," he said grimly. "The Seven know that right now, I doubt that Summerhall is a good place for him."

Maekar snorted quite irreverently. "And you think you can do better?" he asked, knowing that it would never come to pass. Not after Daeron and Mariah had had a child taken from them to live at King's Landing with his grandfather. Besides, the only thing they could do was spoil Daeron rotten without helping him with these dreams of his. No one could.

In his father's eyes, there was a flash of sudden, ever so rare anger. It came and passed, and the King was himself again. "You got me here," he said. "No, I won't be taking him with us. No more than I would ever take Aegon."

At first, Maekar thought that he had misheard, that his father had said Aemon. But the glance his mother gave him told him otherwise. "I suppose there is no use trying to dissuade you?" he asked calmly and his parents stared at him.

"Don't you want to know the reason?" the King asked. "It's a good one, I can assure you."

"Well, I already know it," Maekar said. "To make clear that the Targaryen names are meant to stay in House Targaryen from now on, am I right? And since Jena recently miscarried again and it won't do to call _her_ third or fourth son Aegon anyway, it's mine who gets the honour?"

"Stop it!" Daeron snapped. "I like it no more than you but it needs to be done."

"Does it?" The last name Maekar would ever give to any son of his was his hateful grandfather's. All those years ago. He had been four and he could still remember the smirk on that bloated, perpetually red face. The rants against his parents. The coldness of the Dragonpit when Aegon brought him there, in the cold, forcing him to spend hours listening to him about how dragons would return and wipe away the dishonour that this fool Baelor had given him. The walls confining him in the Red Keep forever, as he had realized with horror. For a boy used to be taken all over the island of dragons and on visits on the neighbouring islands, it had been almost a death sentence, especially when literally no one of the people he was close to at Dragonstone had been allowed to stay with him. Just his nursemaid – Maekar didn't want to think what would have become of him without Maryse. Would he have soaked the values his grandfather had tried to force into him? And then, Aegon had overdone himself, planting the seeds for a war that had almost destroyed the realm. Aegon? Maekar was supposed to call him this?

"You can call him something else," his mother suggested tentatively.

Maekar just looked at her. He was not the one who sweetened the bitterness of his goblets. He would rather face the truth than escape it. "Aegon," he said slowly, tasting the name. It sounded terrible. So unsuitable for the small sleeping face within the white covers. "Aegon."

"Egg," Aemon said; surprised, the three adults laughed. Maekar thought that he had tried to repeat the name and failed but when the girl brought him near, it became clear that Aemon had something else in mind… and perhaps he had failed to repeat the whole name. "Egg," he said, pointing, and the wetnurse took his hand away before he could poke the babe's head. It did indeed resemble an egg, so oval and the hair so fair that it was almost invisible.

The Queen looked up, her eyes suddenly hopeful. Maekar shook his head. "I will call him by his name," he said. "Aegon if he is this."

"We'll talk later," Daeron said. "You need to understand that…"

"Do I?" Maekar asked. "No conversation is needed, I assure you. Summon me the next time you need me to give martial look to our House, lead your armies, keep the troublesome areas in check, or provide you with grandsons to embody the glory of House Targaryen – from afar, if possible. I'll come."

He bowed, took his son – Aegon! Aegon! – from his mother's arms and entered the birthing chamber, taking the place of one of the midwives who were vigilant to keep her awake, for new mothers often did not wake up at all when they went to sleep. Dyanna smiled at him, her entire face lighting up despite the marks of great exhaustion. She held out her arms and Maekar placed their son there. By now, they were both so experienced that the babe did not even stir. "He's so lovely," Dyanna murmured.

"This, he is." He looked at her. "How are you?"

"Sleepy," she said and Maekar looked at the maester.

"Just a few more hours, Your Grace," the man promised.

"Do you see?" Maekar asked. "You're going to sleep when everyone else does. You may go," he added to everyone, noticing that two women were carrying out wash basins and towels. Dyanna always insisted to be cleaned as soon as possible after giving birth; this task completed, she would be happy to have him here.

"How are you?" she asked as soon as the three of them were alone. For someone so devoted to wild flights of imagination, she was very perceptive to people's reality. Or perhaps just his. He smiled.

"Happy," he said. "As long as I have you, I'll always be happy."

She smiled back and in her arms, the sleeping babe's face crunched as if he were trying to do the same.

 


	6. Rhae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment!

 "Did she see the child?" 

This was the question Mariah had dreaded, expected, hoped she would not hear. Trying to think of an answer ever since the rhythm of the movements had changed and it had become clear that even the agony of pushing would not bring Dyanna out of the dark world of pain and delirium that the disease had hurled her in weeks ago and the labour had transformed into full oblivion . A few months ago, after it had become clear that the disease was back, Dyanna had refused the treatment that had saved her the first time because she had thought – no, she had known! – that cutting the vileness out of her already mutilated breast would cause her body such a shock that it would send her unborn child out into the world, all too soon.

Should she lie? She knew what her son needed to hear. A lie would be preferable, kinder… but Maekar had never thrived on false kindness. "No," Mariah replied. "She didn't. When she started pushing, she had already swooned with pain and exhaustion. She didn't wake up for a moment."

Maekar slowly raised a hand to his face and stared at it as if he had never seen it. Somehow, Mariah knew that he had not seen the newborn that the midwife had carried straight past him either.

The remainder of the day went on in a flurry of activity and fear, through which Dyanna remained unconscious. The afterbirth was taken out of the birthing chamber, burned, and buried, a process in which one of the servant maids doing it almost swooned, overwhelmed by the smell of rot, and Mariah summoned the maesters, the head midwife, and the Volantine woman who had cut the lump out of Dyanna's breast the first time round to listen what they had to say about the horror that had finally revealed its face in the birthing chamber after tormenting them for so long.

"The corroding disease often strikes more than one place," the maester said. "With Her Grace, it returned to her breast and it was evident but we had no way of knowing that it had arisen in her womb as well. The rotting afterbirth and cord were the first symptoms…"

He kept talking but Mariah no longer listened to him; Maekar, as pale as the Stranger, did not hear.

"Is the babe healthy?" Mariah asked but Maekar did not even look interested in this answer.

"What are you going to name her?" she asked after receiving their tentative reply that yes, the babe seemed to be unaffected.

Maekar looked at her as if he could not make sense of the words, and she realized that he did not care. Neither for the name nor for the babe.

* * *

 

"Monster," Aerion offered lightly but the expression he got when he spoke about his new sister was anything but. It was dark and full of hatred.

"Stop talking nonsense!" Daeron said angrily. "Just wait till Mother hears you…"

Aerion huffed. "Still with your head in the cloud of your wishes, aren't you? Mother won't hear me. She won't hear anything because she's going to die, die, die! Die because of this thing who'll likely turn out ill or feeble-minded – did you hear what they call her? Child of the Stranger! Another fitting name of you ask me!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Both boys were shouting, ready to come at each other. Their uncle Ultor Dayne stepped in between them before they could fly at each other but Maekar did not move. In fact, Mariah had the feeling that given the choice, he'd easily accept one of the two names Aerion had yelled out in his anger. For herself, she wanted to slap Aerion because he had given voice to her darkest hidden fears. The child was just a few hours old but the wetnurse was already scared to touch her. And even if she turned out to be healthy, what kind of life would she have? Her mother would die soon and her father did not care about her at all. The darkness descending in a chamber where the servants dared not walk in to light the lamps seemed to be born out of the darkness rising in Mariah's own soul, the darkness that seemed to have a firm grasp over her son and grandsons already.

* * *

 

"Would you mind it if I stay?" Maekar asked. "Just for a little while," he added as if she needed to be convinced.

"I'd love it if you do," Mariah replied softly. Five days after the funeral, he looked as if he had not slept for a moment. Rumours had it that he'd soon put a horse to death with the sheer ferocity and lengths of his rides. Indeed, she had not caught more than a few glimpses of him, a few instances of passing each other despite her increasingly desperate attempts to see him.

Out of sheer habit or again, the unwillingness to show his suffering, he chose a seat where his face remained in shadow. But he had come, as short as his staying would be. Some instinct warned her against offering foods or drinks, although she could see that he needed both desperately.

"How have you been?" he asked after a while.

"Fine," she replied cautiously.

"How have the children been?"

"Why don't you go and see for yourself?"

He shook his head. "They'd better not see me like this. It's hard enough for them as it is."

As painful as it was, Mariah knew he was right.

"Rhae is thriving," she said pointedly but when he looked at her, there was no hint of interest to hear it.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said indifferently and then, the meaning of her words slowly got to him. "Rhae? Is this what you named her?"

"Yes," the Queen replied, lifting her chin in defiance to everyone daring to wonder why she had chosen a diminutive, a sweet shortened name for her granddaughter. It was her defiance to nature, to those who whispered that the little girl would grow up unhealthy and loveless, to those who did call her Child of the Stranger. Rhae would grow up pretty, healthy, smart, evoking tenderness in everyone she met.

Not in her father, though. Not now. Maekar nodded, appreciating that she had relieved him of this duty, and looked at the nothingness again. Mariah had little doubt that came the morn, he would have forgotten what his daughter had been named.

* * *

**The End**

 


End file.
